Prince of Luster (5 page)

Marcos watched the man go and got the impression he was glad to be out of the room and away from Forrell. The salesman moved a little too quickly, his eyes had a wary, anxious look, and his hands had shaken as he’d gathered the gems.

“Now. Let’s retire to the tavern and have our drink. Of course, our meal will be my way of thanking you for a successful business deal. If you’ll give me a moment to change into something less officious than these robes of office, I’ll join you in the foyer outside.”

Marcos waited until Forrell strode from the room. Afterward, he slowly turned and walked toward the arched doors and noted again how gray all the building stone was. Every structure reminded him of an old castle dungeon. His mood turned as dour as all the colors of the town. Sitting with the suspicious governor and sharing a meal wasn’t his idea of a good time. But it was one way to get closer to the planet’s primary official and find out what might be going on. Marcos knew his business dealings should have been made with the merchant of his choice, and he should have had the opportunity of viewing different stones. Not with the one gem salesman and limited variety Forrell seemed to have chosen. But it would make perfect sense if Forrell wanted to keep track of what Marcos was told, what information he might be exposed to.

Marcos knew he was being watched constantly. Not because there were any outward signs of surveillance equipment, but just because the hair on the back of his neck was standing straight up. Someone was suspicious about him. His transaction had been too easy. Forrell was being too solicitous of a minor merchant’s needs, and there was a considerable lack of trust and freedom to move about the streets or the planet’s surface. Even though Delta Seven was a humanoid colony, it wouldn’t have been uncommon to see other races. But to see no other races among the population at
all
was strange. And there should be other merchants like
him
.

In the short time he’d been on the planet’s surface, he’d come to believe there was something illegal and exceedingly dangerous going on. His worst fears had been realized. There’d been no mistake. Failure to maintain contact with allies, such as Luster, had been purposely done. And not because of some perceived diplomatic slight.

With a few well-placed questions, he hoped to find out more without making the governor suspicious. He had to get further into the main marketplace and find anyone who might be willing to talk openly. That would be the most dangerous part of his entire mission and must be accomplished quickly.

“I’m so sorry I took longer than expected, but there was some minor business I needed to address. I hope you didn’t mind the wait.”

Marcos turned as Adaman Forrell entered the room from a side entrance. The man could hardly be missed. He was wearing a caftan-type robe that was a bright melon orange. It contrasted so absurdly with his pallid complexion that Marcos felt the need to avert his gaze lest he say something tactless. “No trouble at all, sir.” He bowed slightly. “Shall we retire to the inn and enjoy a cold drink?”

“You’ve taken the words right from my mouth, Mr. Orlandis. Let’s not tarry.”

After making their way to the tavern and placing their orders, Marcos took his time and held off asking any leading questions until the governor was half inebriated. But plenty of questions had been asked of him.

“So, you’ve no family and make your home where you please. Ah, a wanderer’s life is so uncomplicated. I envy you, my friend.”

Marcos leaned forward and refilled the governor’s goblet with ale. “I hope to settle down some time. But the urge to make my fortune drives me. I hold back a little profit from each sale in the bigger markets. Perhaps, by doing so, I can save enough to eventually purchase some particularly exquisite stones. Even just a few. Then, I can one day count myself among those gem merchants whose offerings are noteworthy.”

Forrell waved his hand toward the ceiling. “Wishing on stars as do all merchants. That’s the eternal dream. To have better goods, bigger sales, and excessive profits while working fewer hours.”

Marcos lifted his goblet in a toast. “Here’s to merchants everywhere.”

“Well said.” Forrell lifted his goblet to his lips and glanced over the top at the four large men at the other end of the bar. “Uh, I suppose you’ll want to leave our little planet right away?”

Marcos carefully studied Forrell’s face as he sipped his own drink. He didn’t think the other men in the bar were there because of their thirst. They’d only come in a few minutes after he and the governor had found a seat and ordered their meal. “I’d heard shuttles were few and far between. I suppose I’ll have to wait a few weeks for the next one to be available?”

“Oh, there’ll you’ll be in luck, my friend. We have a shuttle coming tomorrow evening. It’s bringing supplies. With a word from me, we can have you on your way as soon as possible.”

“Luck is with me, then. But since the shuttle won’t be arriving until tomorrow, I’d like to see something of your major market area.”

Forrell put his drink down and carefully cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Mr. Orlandis, I’m afraid our larger section of town is off limits to outer-worlders such as yourself. It’s guarded and our constables wouldn’t let you near it.”

“And why is that?” Marcos noted the way Forrell swiped at his sweating brow and how his hands shook.

“I’m afraid we have a problem with a few dissidents. They don’t like me or my policies and have found a way to take their anger out on my local supporters. Why, they’ve attacked decent merchants, stolen goods from miners, and have caused the population untold chaos, and quite recently too. I’d hate it if something were to happen to you. A stranger might make a target. Ransoming you might be one means of instilling the fear they seek. The marketplace simply isn’t safe right now. As I’ve said, our constables are patrolling the area, but it’s difficult to find these thieves and malcontents. Some of our honest and noble citizens are coming forward and helping root them out, one by one. But until we have them arrested, it wouldn’t be prudent for you to put yourself in harm’s way. And I can assure you, there’s nothing in the major marketplace for a merchant such as yourself. We have only a few vendors selling wares and food the locals need, but nothing noteworthy.”

Marcos asked the obvious question. “Why not call League enforcers to handle the lot of them?”

Forrell shook his head. “It isn’t necessary. By the time Constellation League personnel could arrive, months will have passed. Our own local constabulary will have these criminals under arrest by then. At that time, a jury of their peers will try them. Justice will be served.” He shrugged and sighed heavily. “For now, I’m afraid the major areas are simply off limits. As I’ve said, we’ll rectify the entire situation shortly.”

“Yes. I can see that if something were to happen to me, it could be newsworthy enough as to be a deterrent to other visitors.”

Adaman nodded in agreement. “Precisely.”

Marcos pretended to acquiesce. “Perhaps I’ll see the main part of your city on another visit, when your situation has been tactically contained by your local constables.”

“Of course. Never fear, my good fellow. We’ll settle the problem before long. And there are some merchants near the inn you can certainly visit. I’m sure they’d be happy to have your business. Some sell clothing, trinkets, and local crafts. That area is quite safe, and you’re welcome to shop there. Until curfew, that is.”

There were a dozen more questions he’d liked to have asked. But as he was being watched and covertly questioned as it was, Marcos kept the rest of his queries to himself.

The morning passed without incident, and he left the governor drinking at the tavern. He retreated to his room, telling Forrell that he needed to check on the delivery of his stones and make payment to the merchant’s delivery person. In actuality, he now had another idea in mind.

As he was sure he was being watched, he waited until the late afternoon, finalized his gem transaction, then pretended to do some shopping in those streets near the inn, where his presence wouldn’t be questioned.

As he ducked in and out of one shop or another and tried to blend in with the locals, the constables following him were finding it increasingly difficult to delineate his form from any other. There were many lofty, muscular men in the vicinity. Many were miners and worked very hard for a living, as exemplified by their hands, forearms, and strong upper bodies. They were of a similar build to him, so his task was easy.

To make himself even harder to discern, he hunched forward by inches, making himself seem shorter.

At some intersections he turned right, left at others. Then he deliberately backtracked and pretended to go back into a store to look at something he was considering buying. The merchants took no notice of his antics.

When he was sure no one followed, he slipped out the side entrance of one shop, through an alley, and among the back of a row of stores. He was finally lost to his pursuers. He had only an hour or two of light left; curfew loomed. He made his way straight to the major part of the small colony, by way of back streets and lonely alleys. He assumed the men following would be too embarrassed or too afraid to admit they’d lost their quarry. Something told him the latter of those two excuses would be the reason he really got away.

People on the planet were frightened. It was in the air, in every person strolling by, in every child with a downturned face. It was even prevalent among the business folk with whom he’d talked. If they hadn’t come right out and said it, their faces certainly had showed it. They’d constantly glanced toward the streets where the constables lurked. And they’d been willing to take anything he’d offered for their goods, sometimes at an extreme loss. To those who rarely sold goods, some money was better than none. Especially if one had a family to feed.

Marcos still carried the money he’d hidden away in his cloak, along with the gems he’d purchased. With those, he hoped to bribe someone in the main part of the city into telling him the truth. Surely someone would talk and keep their mouth shut. If he could convince one good witness that help was on the way, then he could leave with testimony of what was actually happening. But he had to have someone step forward. So far, he’d seen nothing that didn’t corroborate Forrell’s statement that “dissidents” were causing disaster, but his intuition and instincts were not enough.

Before this night was over, he’d have his answers. He’d be on the shuttle tomorrow and return in months with a fleet of Constellation League star ships behind him.

He smiled. Cunning evasion of this small colony’s law enforcement was easily accomplished.

As he approached the major part of the small city and tried to blend in with the cloaked and hooded citizens, his smile melted. Appreciation of his stealth reverted to intense and immeasurable horror. As he saw the faces of those in the market, he understood why so many wore hoods of one kind or another. It wasn’t just the fashion. The garments were worn to cover raw, open wounds or old, terrifying scars.

Fire plasma
.

Now he knew why he’d been kept from this part of the city. Here, hooded garments were necessary to protect open, burned flesh from the sunlight. Children, the elderly, and people his age were all scarred.

From his cursory inspection, one out of every three of the citizens had been exposed to the plasma. He pulled the hood of his own cloak closer to his face. He strolled among them, barely able to contain anger. This was how a population was kept silent. But why? Why would anyone do this to another soul?

Suddenly, a woman cried out.

He instinctively turned toward the sound, as everyone else did. It was then that he witnessed the reason no non-humanoid races were present.

What he’d seen thus far had made his blood run cold; it froze in his veins now.

Limaxians
.

He stared in horror at the brown-clad, slug-like creatures. Each was almost seven feet in height. A crowd formed around them. No one wanted to get too close.

Limaxians oozed about the galaxy after leaving the primordial soup of their own planet. Their home world of Maximus was unfit for any other life form save their own. Even in the recent wars between the allies and various races calling themselves Warlords, the Limaxians took neither side, preferring to live off the carnage war always brought. While he’d only seen them when they were chased from some battlefield, where it was said they ate the flesh of dead allies and enemies alike, Marcos knew them to be unconscionable killers.

He watched as the eyes protruded from the grayish, flat face of the biggest of the three. Its fang-like teeth jutted out from gums that secreted some kind of foul-smelling ooze. Whatever the substance was, it was also present over the rest of their bodies. This one was particularly large, muscular, and had its two-fingered appendage that served for a hand around a merchant’s throat. Marcos watched as the big
slug
, as they were called, laughed and taunted the frightened man in front of the humans.

The Limaxian appearing to be the leader tossed the man to the ground and placed his booted foot over the merchant’s throat. “What do I have here?” the slug loudly announced. “This pathetic creature isn’t even intelligent enough to know that he should never cheat higher life forms … such as us.”

Marcos would have given his right arm for a good laser weapon or even a large club. Anger rose as the slug continued to browbeat the frightened man on the ground. Marcos slowly made his way through the crowd and toward the cloaked, foul-smelling alien. Clearly, the slug doing the talking was the leader. It was now apparent why there were no other alien beings on Delta Seven. Slugs would kill or run them off if they could. They only allowed humans to live and exist in their proximity because they considered them a subordinate species, worthy of subjugating or eating if the notion struck them. Because of their size, strength, and propensity to wander in packs, it was easy for the slugs to do as they pleased. Especially against an unarmed, untrained civilian population.